


A Certain Romance

by Beaufort



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Jealousy, M/M, Unintentional breathplay, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beaufort/pseuds/Beaufort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If NBC Hannibal was a filler episode on Grey's Anatomy, there would be more coffee chugging, and less wine sipping, more cafeteria gossip and less murder fetishes. There would definitely be departmental rivalries in the betting pool on who hooks up with who. </p><p>Everyone would be stuck in dysfunctional and highly unethical workplace relationships. But that's nothing new, is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pure fluff, crack, and jealousy? 
> 
> Control of Gene Expression in Microbes was so damn boring, I spent the lecture writing this piece of trash. 
> 
> Title from Arctic Monkeys.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is a Renaissance man with impeccable etiquette and a taste for finery. He is perfectly gracious to colleagues, always available to their petty complaints and frustrations with a fragrant cup of Ethiopian roast, and a tray of Afghan biscuits.

As Chief of Neurosurgery, Hannibal is always sure to welcome new members of the department, but when it comes to Dr. Will Graham, he finds himself making visits with a much higher frequency- and always with a present in hand. Food is, after all, a universal symbol of kinship with a message of good natured intentions.

He is surprised, however, to find someone else in the office with Dr. Graham. The door is closed, and the blinds mostly shut, as is the preference of Will, but they are not closed all the way, and the fluorescent lighting inside offers much clarity.  

Hannibal sees a younger man with hooded eyes and a new age slouch that ticks him off immediately. Ah, _Brown_. 3rd year neurology resident. Hannibal was never fond of his challenging eyes and smarting mouth. Even the way he stood, tall but with a careless hoodlum lean was offensive.

Rude, Hannibal decides, tasting the unrefined word on his tongue.

When Will reaches for his lab coat, Brown is already an arm span ahead, snagging the fabric from the hook on the wall. He holds it out in a way that forces Will to come into his elusive embrace, arms shuffling into the sleeves with an awkward pull.

Hannibal watches as Brown whispers something discreet and quiet into the shell of Will's ear, a smattering of words that bring a flush to the curve of pale skin.

It is Brown that sees him first, and the smirk that stretches across his thin lips triggers an itching spark in Hannibal. He thinks of the faculty ID hanging from his lab coat, and the dull edge that could be easily sharpened with a few purposeful swipes against the metal door handle. A little less than a 45 degree, two times, 3 at most.

Brown sweeps a heated gaze over the small of Will's back, and tongues his cheek in a lewd manner.

Neither of them break eye contact through the gaps of the blinds.

Hannibal remembers something like this a year ago when Brown made ill-fated advances on himself. He was quite nimble with his fingers, and Hannibal had to refrain from crushing his wrist more than a few times when the man slipped his hand lower than the waistline.

Hannibal had only found out later that it was Brown’s punishment for losing a drinking game at the departmental party.

Same tactics, different motives.

Very rude, Hannibal thinks. Brown laughs.

Will reaches for his stethoscope, adjusting its position around his neck. His ears are still warm with embarrassment, but his hands are poised and steady. That was never a problem.

Matthew is hardly aware of his nearing presence, two swift paces, until a stethoscope tightens around his neck like a noose. There is enough pressure to be a warning. Will is suddenly thankful that his office door is firmly closed, and the blinds mostly drawn. Only someone with the intent to look in would find them.

"Careful what you say, Matthew."

Mathew’s breathe hitches.

Will is gentle but if he pulls the cord hard enough, each hand in a different direction, well, the nearest drawer of scalpels and medical equipment is five meters away. Matthew could envision the struggle and teeter towards the cabinets, but the image quickly flitters away, mind much more preoccupied with the texture of the rubber cord against his throat. With every inhale and exhale, the stethoscope moves in tandem. He is sure that Will can feel the quickening rise and fall of his chest, simply through the give of the cord.  

Then he relaxes, and presses back into the contours of Will's body, humming contently with a breathy exhalation, "You feel _amazing_ , Dr. Graham."

Hannibal opens the door with more force than necessary.

 

* * *

 

"It's Dr. Lecter. I don't need to justify. The food. The drop ins. The food. Why am I justifying?"

"Come on, do you not see how Will fucking smiles that little 'I am so charmed by your psychotic shit' smile? That's the deal breaker, I'm telling you.  Sixty dollars on Brown."

"What's going on here?"

And the two of them turn towards Alana, forks of food still suspended in midair. Brian’s spool of pasta quickly unravels falling with a wet little splat on to the Styrofoam tray.

Of course, of course when they respond, Jimmy says 'nothing', and Brian spills every last detail.

"We're betting on who Dr. Graham hooks up with by the end of the month. That would be July 19th, uh, at 2:34 pm. The cut off, I mean. Jim’s got 50 riding on Lecter, and I've got 60 on Brown, you’ve seen him around before, yes? Creepy fucker but smart as hell-"

Alana's face shuts him up real fast, just as he feels Jimmy kick him in the shin, and it feels like third grade all over again, slipping and smacking his leg on the monkey bars. Crunch.

She doesn't even say goodbye, just walks away with her tofu salad. There's a certain tightness in her shoulders, and the distinct staccato of her heels fall away to the noise of the dining hall. Brian stares until the white lab coat disappears around the corner.

Their corner of the table is silent.

"She has a thing for Dr. Graham?"

"She has a thing for Dr. Lecter."

"But she also has a thing for Graham?"

"It's complicated. We’d have to draw a flow chart and bring in Crayola’s 24 classics.”

"Shit. What about Matthew? Are we on the clear for him? Because I bet 60 bucks on that dude."

"No one told you to bet that much. If you'd just listened to me, I could've given you a very detailed report on-"

"Hey."

"What."

"I just remembered something. Was Matthew the intern we got to go make a pass at Dr. Lecter? You know during the New Year’s party, and we were all piss drunk?"

Brian’s words slow even before he finishes asking. Jimmy grins.

“Hand over the 50. Corpses don’t count. Unless Dr. Graham’s into necro of course.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there a plot to this? I think so... I hope so. It's such a stress reliever.

Two weeks later, Margot Verger strides in, tailored wool blazers, leather riding pants, an intern ID pinned against her chest. The severe makeup looks positively dangerous.

Beverly drops in and informs them that if she digs up even a shred of involvement between Margot and Dr. Graham, they both owe her a crisp 100.

But again, this is Beverly Katz, and if she deems it worthy to make a visit, then she's already sniffed out something worth her while.

Brian drags a palm across his face, and tells Jimmy to get out Crayola's 24 classics. This time, Jimmy has nothing to be smug about.

* * *

 

The thing about Margot is that she's easily one of the most attractive women at the hospital. The current Who's Who lists Dr. Du Maurier as their queen, and Dr. Bloom as a close second, but Margot is young, and moves her body with a wicked confidence that leaves both men and women trailing her with interest. 

Margot's an intern, but with a background as wealthy and powerful as hers, no one is too keen to subject her to a round of the typical intern hazing. And even without the Verger name, she looks like a praying mantis.

By now, a quarter of the hospital is in on the betting pool. Not everyone is an active participant, but most are keeping track of Brian and Jimmy's flowchart diagram taped over a chalkboard in the cafeteria.

A few employees have complained about its placement over the daily soup specials, but all were swiftly silenced by the tyranny of the majority.

Dr. Chilton is naturally one of those few employees. He'd strode in with his cane, expecting to see his Tuesday Clam Chowder special, chalked in by his favorite dining hall employee, with the curling italicized script. Eyeing the wrinkled white poster with its myriad of ugly scribbles, he'd walked right out and contacted the head of dining services.

No one backed him.

By Friday, he's annoyed enough to take a closer look. For a few minutes, he stands there wondering why everyone has such a fervent interest in Dr. Graham's sex life. By the turn of the fifth minute, he relents, because he is just as curious. As disturbed as he is.

Chilton feels a vindictive pleasure when he bets against Hannibal, the fucking asshole. A year back when their previous Chief of Neurosurgery retired, Hannibal and he had been in running contention for the available position. Then, then Chilton got run over by a fucking _cyclist_ in the middle of the fucking night. 

He'd been surveying his neighbors' spring gardening, circling the choice of fauna after a late evening stroll, when a light blinded him, and his leg went crack. The cyclist biked away.

Chilton is convinced without a single shred of doubt that it was Hannibal's doing. When he reported the cyclist to the police, ready to scream conspiracy and offer his own video footage of the neighborhood- not quite legal- he was told that the investigation would be taken seriously, but please do not make baseless accusations, this is not the age of McCarthyism, sir.

He was hospitalized for a week, and wore a cast for a month. In his absence, the committee was so kind to give him his rest without additional stress, and when he finally came back, Hannibal was the Chief of Neurosurgery.

Chilton looks at the crappy yellow envelope and the shit writing on it that says, _Pens for Your Use, Please Do Not Steal_. It seems that Hannibal is winning, simply because no one really knows who the hell intern Brown is. And as for the new competitor, Margot Verger, she's definitely flashy. Chilton is a little worried about what she's actually doing here; there's more story behind that innocent intern badge.

Chilton bets $250 in Brown's favor. He always did like that intern anyway. Subdued and obedient.

Go tap that ass, kid.

He's repulsed as soon as the thought crosses his mind.

* * *

 

Will detours the third person that day who's walked towards him with the intention to talk. No, he is not carrying a torch for the Chief of Neurosurgery, no he is not banging the hot creepy intern, no he is not being seduced by the other one either. No, he is not single. Yes, he is married. Is he faithful? Yes. To who? To whom, Will corrects.

To his dogs, fuck you all.

Beverly asks him if he's unstable. He is very stable, it's the rest of them that's unstable.

When even Chilton asks him if he's seen Brown, _not that I've noticed, but that boy's been eyeing you for weeks, I have something of a personal investment in this bet, would you be kind enough to_ -

Will closes the door in his face.

Jesus Christ. 

Of course he's seen Brown, they've shared entirely too many inappropriate moments in their short acquaintance. There's enough to get Will fired from the post, medical license revoked.

It's perfectly consensual, Matthew had offered, when Hannibal walked in. Will had quickly unwrapped the stethoscope from Matthew's neck, and set it down on the counter behind them.

There wasn't much he could say in his defense. Either it was kinky sex play, or an attempt of murder. He'd rather go down with the latter though.

In the end, he shrugged and told Hannibal, _I'm really not into sexual choking. This was_ actual _choking. Indict me for a provoked attempt of murder, but please, leave out accusations of sexual assault._

Hannibal had only looked at him and said, _I was more worried about you, to be honest, Dr. Graham. But it seems my worries are unfound. You are perfectly capable with your hands._

Eventually though, Will's pager went off, and Matthew excused himself. The affair was swept under the carpet, until further notice. 

It was all very morally ambiguous.

To think he actually had an interest in Alana, but now she avoids him under the assumption that he's involved with Hannibal.

And Matthew.

They have a debauched three way relationship together. With a side of Verger heiress. Might as well add French delight, Bedelia, in as well. Hospital orgy for everyone. Of course. Always.

When a nurse confronts him about having been seen on a lunch date with Margot Verger, Will loses his shit.

He takes the rest of the day off.


End file.
